After realising that I haven't the cash to buy a new pair of pants, I decide to simply steal some. The task is easily accomplished: as my Pinsir wreaks a bit of havoc chasing around the shop owner's Pidgey I slip on some jeans, leaving the old ones in their place. Not one to be caught, I manage to rip the security tag off, as well. It leaves me bereft of a corduroy strap on one side, but, big deal. That just makes them look 'used'. I collect my Pinsir – after apologising profusely – and skip out of the store, feeling fresher.

The next order of business is to secure a meeting with Misty. It won't be easy, I'm sure: so far as I can tell she's a step ahead of the usual gym leader in terms of popularity, making her very, very busy. It doesn't help that I've been placed on a trainer blacklist. But I may as well try, and the first place to do so is at Misty's gym. After stopping to ask for directions I lead my motley band to Cerulean gym, home of Kanto's most powerful Water Pokemon.

It doesn't take long to find the place. It's not humble by any stretch of the imagination. The building is entirely open-air, with a huge, mechanised clamshell dome for covering up on foul weather days. Today isn't one of those days, clearly, and as I approach I take note of over a dozen fountains, ranging from small to large, and several battling platforms situated on top of pillars. Statues and busts of any number of figures adorn the place. It's very Romanesque. Misty's platform is at the head of the gym, of course, and it takes grandeur to new heights: virtually every inch of the moulding on it is covered in gold plates. A statue of Kyogre, the legendary Water God, arches over an opulent couch upon which I'm guessing Misty seats herself.

But not today. The whole gym looks vacant as I approach it, save for a single security guard at its entrance. I go up and ask why Misty's not in.

"Preparing for a parade," she answers. "After that she has business elsewhere. The gym won't be open for another two weeks."

"Any chance of me arranging a meeting with her?"

The guard just laughs at me.

Well, so much for that. I'll have to pass on Misty for the moment. It wouldn't hurt to see her in the parade, however, as she might have her Pokemon on display.

"When's the parade? Is it in Cerulean?"

"Of course it is. Tomorrow, 12 o'clock sharp. Champion Red'll be there, too, or so I hear."

I don't much care about battling him, since he won't get me any closer to my goals. I wander away from the guard without bothering to thank her.

I suppose that means I'll have to wait until tomorrow. I wander the city for a few hours, taking in the sights until I get bored, eventually deciding it's time to continue training. Releasing all of my Pokemon I head into the wilds outside of Cerulean and let them loose on the local population of wild Pokemon.

They do well for themselves. Pinsir is fiendishly brutal, ripping its foes to pieces instead of just knocking them out. Eevee takes a calmer approach, preferring to attack vital points on its foes in an attempt to make quick defeats. And Growlithe. . .

Well, Growlithe kinda surprises me. It's quite strong. It doesn't apply any more force to battling than required; once its enemies go down, Growlithe leaves them alone. It works with a kind of finesse that I admire, too, using speed and precision more than strength. I'd expected it to overwhelm and pulverise its opponents like Pinsir. Its sense of mercy might be a problem in the future, though.

As the day wanes and night begins to fall I build a camp. Eevee and Growlithe aid me in my endeavours, collecting enough stray twigs and branches to erect a large bonfire. Growlithe in particular is rigorous in its task (self-appointed, no less, or at least delegated by Eevee), outdoing Eevee two to one in the amount of fuel collected. Eevee doesn't seem to mind, and I suspect it may even use Growlithe's thorough nature as an excuse to do less work itself. Pinsir does nothing to help any of us, preferring instead to slowly devour a clutch of eggs I'd found for it earlier. What Pokemon they'd belonged to, I'm not sure; however, when we hear the agonised sorrow-cry of some far off Pokemon late in the evening, I have no difficulty attributing it to the mother of the eggs.

We all sit around the fire, Pinsir dozing, Murkrow staring, Eevee and Growlithe playing, and myself reading. I note from the corner of my eye that Eevee is surprisingly rough in its play, and it tends to launch itself at Growlithe more harshly than Growlithe would probably prefer. The latter, however, takes it all in stride (which is easier to do when your playmate is two thirds less weighty than yourself) and fights back with measured gentility. Eventually I tell them to knock it off, and Growlithe immediately lies down; but it takes a few more calls for Eevee to give up the battle, and I'm forced to fake a kick in its direction before it settles down on its bed for the night.

The firelight makes for a poor source of illumination and I eventually toss my book aside (it's boring anyway: some nonsense about Leonardo da Vinci), preferring instead to watch the sky. It's a clear night, and perfect for stargazing: a normally blank slate has been illuminated by a panoply of lightened pinpricks, each one a part of a cosmic roadmap that I'll never be able to follow.

But that's okay. I only care about the here, the now. Impossibilities aren't worth pursuing.

--

"- the latest –"

and

"What's the matter?"

--

I blink. My memories are converging in a scattered fashion that I don't altogether care for. I shove them off to the side before a torrent of forgotten information can present itself to my brain and confuse the hell out of me.

The stars are kinda pretty, though.

I look down from them and over to my Eevee. Growlithe has shimmied over to its side, and is sleeping with its nose on Eevee's bed. The edges of its mask have been carefully positioned so they won't poke Eevee as it sleeps.

Ugh. Ugh!

"What the hell!" I want to yell, but I know it won't go over well with Pinsir.

"What the HELL!" I want to scream. "Why are you so CHUMMY with it?"

I'm filled with the greatest sense of disgust. I want Growlithe to go away, right now; more, I want to be the reason it goes away, I want to push it and kick it and tear at it until it dies. And after the disgust abates, I'm left only with loneliness, loneliness I can't beat back with harsh words and lashings. Who would I inflict them upon? Who would listen? Only the Murkrow is watching, and I know it won't react to anything I say to it.

I look at it and whisper, "I hate you. Both of you."

It doesn't reply, and I'm forced to sleep through bitter chills, wondering why I care so much.

But only after I've put Growlithe back in its Poke Ball.

The next day I wake up with the worst headache. Eevee has released Growlithe AGAIN, and the two are looking at me disdainfully.

"What? It's not a goddamn crime to put a Pokemon in a Poke Ball. That's what they're for."

Eevee snorts and trots off. Growlithe, watching the smaller Pokemon retreat from beneath its mask, stays put in front of me. I rub my head in frustration and pull out some breakfast, wilfully neglecting to feed Growlithe. Eventually it leaves, no doubt to search out a meal of its own.

As I devour a can of ravioli I spy, off in the distance, a considerable cavalcade of cars approaching Cerulean. It includes no less than four white limousines, not to mention one considerably larger stretch limo bearing the standard of the Pokemon league on both edges of its dashboard. That's what it looks like from here, anyway.

I guess Red and his party has arrived. I shovel down another mouthful of pasta and meat as I watch, trying to ignore the droning noise of the motors and their effect on my headache. Eventually, tired of sitting, I discard the emptied can and go looking for Eevee.

Fifteen minutes later I find it, though not as I would've expected to. Clearing a small bundle of trees I see Eevee at the feet of a bent figure, being fed a few tidbits of Pokemon feed (or I presume that's what it is, anyway – I'm the only person I've ever seen who feeds his Pokemon food made for humans). Calling out in protest I run over, demanding that the figure stop immediately "or I'll kick the crap out of you!"

It – he – does, and rises from his stoop. It's Old Man Weedle, from Mt. Moon, and sure enough a Weedle is looped around the back of his neck.

"Well. . . hello there, again. . . you have a nice little Eevee, here. . . it is yours, right. . .?"

I'm instantly annoyed by his halting speech. "Yes, yes, and I can feed it myself, thanks. Eevee! Get the hell over here!"

Eevee spurns me and paws at the man's ankles, looking for more food.

"EEVEE! HERE, NOW!"

"Now, now. . . I'm not doing anything. . . wrong. . ." I wish I could see behind his tinted glasses, as his eyes would probably reveal the truth of that statement; but I can't, so I naturally assume the worst. "It was. . . hungry. . ."

"I don't CARE if it was. That's my job, feeding it, and NOT some old coot's. EEVEE, HERE, NOW."

Glaring, it wanders away from Old Man Weedle, but refuses to take up residence by my feet. Have I lost its respect? Have these last few years of care on my part meant nothing to it? I hide my fear beneath these angry questions and watch as it disappears into the trees. My hands are shaking and my brain is throbbing.

"Well. . . I can tell when I'm not. . . wanted. . . so I'll just go. . . but first, young man. . . I wanted to-"

"I don't have time to put up with your rambling. Adios." I turn to leave.

"Wait! Please. . . wait! I'm sorry I. . . can't talk. . . very fast. . ." He starts to sputter and cough from his exertions, the effort taking a strain on his voice. "I just. . . please. . . just wanted to know. . . if you. . . planned. . ."

"SPIT IT OUT."

"To see the parade today." He spits the last of his sentence out as quickly as he can and gasps for air. I'm tempted to laugh at his debilitation but find myself too pissed to be even sadistically merry.

"Yeah, I am. What of it?"

Doubling over, coughing, he just shakes his head and wanders off with all the grace of a stoned Rhyhorn.

"That's IT?" I call out. "YOU WASTED MY TIME FOR THAT? USELESS!"

This day isn't looking any better than the last. I head back to camp, stomping any vegetation that dares to get in my way.